


Silver Wolf Short Drabbles

by Gyhl



Category: Silver Wolf/Gin no Okami
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, Silver feels only Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyhl/pseuds/Gyhl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>30 years after canon, Silver returns to Ray's grave.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Burial Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 30 years after canon, Silver returns to Ray's grave.

An aged man stood over a grave marker. The date was some thirty years prior and the dates on it showed the one who rested in the grave had been only in his thirties when he died. His dark eyes were cold and hard as he looked on the stone and his hands clenched in his pockets.

He remembered the day well. It had been the start of many hard years and it was only recently that his last reason for living on had left him. She had gone silently, watching the dawn rise and holding his hand as her life left her. It had been appropriate that his dawn had left with the dawn. And in that far-off land, he'd burried her under the name they'd been living by.

"I told you I would not forget you," he said, pulling out a bottle of wine from under his coat. He uncorked it and poured some of it on the grave. "We should have gone to Tunis."

He sat, his back against the grave marked Michel Lavreau and took a deep draught from the bottle.

"It's a long time since we've drunk like this"

No one looked twice at his silver hair now. Now it was what they expected to see. No one had ever realized that it was not the Silver Wolf who had died that day. He drank for a while in silence. Once he had lived for Ray. When Ray was gone and all he had left was to protect the memories of those who were gone and the woman who was left, he lived for that.

"Now all of you are memories," he said quietly.

It had taken him a long time to put aside his anger toward Ray. Not for saving him and keeping him alive, but for pushing him that last day. They could have left together. Even all these years later, Mireille's scream as she shot Ray was still close in his heart and in his mind.

"That is all I have left to protect."

He poured the last bit of the alcohol onto the ground.

"Ah, one of us got old and decrepit at least," he said with a dark laugh. He knew he wasn't the later yet, but it was what they'd talked about while drinking that one morning, what they would do if they were able to meet again as old men.

"Maybe we'll still meet again"

He took his knife out, the edge shining and smooth.

"The bad memories won't be able to do anything then," he said bringing the knife up for one final murder.


	2. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver angsts by moonlight.

The moon was high and Silver watched it from the darkened bedroom. Mireille breathed softly and slowly behind him. Every so often, she would make a sound in her sleep and he would wait and listen for her to wake up or sink back into deeper sleep. Neither of them slept well.

Nights like this were the worst for him. Memories that he could push away with ease came flooding back at night. They were usually memories of Ray, but this night, he was thinking of Claire. They had met while he was still in university. Their meetings were never long and sometimes were not all that often, but what they did have they both enjoyed.

Michel had been different in those days. He had laughed with her. They had walked arm-in-arm if the night was clear. He had given her everything and only asked that she be patient until he was out of university. She had; she had even come some nights while he studied and done embroidery while he studied, stopping only to rub his neck when he seemed to need it. She had been his world until Lisa, and then they both were his everything.

He looked at the sleeping woman. When he had forgotten everything, he had lived for Ray, but they were all dead now. All except this woman. He got back into bed beside her, wrapping his arm around her and holding her close. There was little affection in the gesture; he would protect her however he could and be haunted by the memories of those who had died because he could not.


	3. Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reading Through the Looking Glass, Silver does what Silver does.

Through the Looking Glass. It was a fanciful idea, if not an overly interesting story.

There had been a copy of it in the house he had rented for them. Boredom had prompted him to read it and now, he was standing in front of the mirror in the house, staring at his reflection. A haunted man looked back at him. He could see this man in his mind's eye. A man with a wife who adored him and a daughter who was his world. One who had never taken a life, never needed alcohol to get through a day, never considered his life to be too long. He had been a surgeon, and a good one at that.

One hand came up, tugging on the brown wig and pulling it away, letting the white hair fall free. This one was a man who'd never had that happiness, who'd woken from a coma with no memories of his past. Maybe that had been better, not knowing instead of knowing how he failed that beloved life, how he had lived when those women who had depended on him so greatly had died. 

The one who still depended on him came up behind him and placed one delicate hand on his shoulder. "Silver...?"

His own looking glass would not take him to some fanciful world, but to the past. The woman standing at his side would be Claire, and she would be smiling and not looking so haunted like the broken woman at his side.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head and turning away from the mirror.


	4. Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20 years after canon, Silver and Mireille have settled in England. A young girl sees them and dreams of high romance like they must have.

England, 1910

She watched them from across the street. They did this every week and she waited in the cafe to see it, sighing softly to herself as they passed by. His hair was longer than fashion approved of, but pulled back decently. It gave him a romantic air, like someone out of a romantic story. She kept her hair, which must be beautiful unpinned, tight up against her head. They walked arm-in-arm, heading toward the shops. They always came back with him carrying a few packages, her hand still resting on his arm. They were such subdued people, but she had seem him when his companion - she assumed wife - was turned away from him. His eyes followed her and stayed with her. There was something detached and overly calm about him that seemed to almost come alive again when he looked at her.

For his part, the aging assassin wasn't wholly unaware of their weekly audience. The first time he had noticed her, he had assumed their past was catching up with them. The girl had nearly ended up dead for it, too. But once he had realized the truth - that she was just a young woman with dreams of high romance - he left her be. In the years since they had settled in the city, she had been the only potential threat he had found. 

They had worked on rebuilding a life. They had papers, they had a legal identity that could be traced back Calais. Although, unfortunately, the originals had been burned. Such an unfortunate accident, the fire that cast their shadows before them. It had been necessary and it had been the first, and only, act he had considered not telling Mireille of. It would be too easy to attempt to shield her from what needed to be done to keep her safe. Too easy to assume that she would not notice. He had wondered if she would have brought it up or been the passive woman she had been for her husband. It had been that thought which prompted him to tell her. He would not become that to her.

As far as he knew, no one had ever investigated their identities. He had not returned to being a surgeon. That had been too much of a risk in his mind, but he had returned to medicine and it kept Mireille well taken care of. He assumed he loved her. It was nothing like what he and his beloved wife had, but nothing would ever match that. And even these years later, he suspected romantic love would be beyond him. He was still broken; he assumed he always would be. But what love he had for her was fierce, protective. living to keep her safe, to keep her alive, had become easier as time had gone on. He knew all too well that his world revolved around her and that if his dawn faded into blackness, then he would sleep and see what would come. He held out no hope for heaven, no hope for some divine afterlife. Something would be good. Something that led him back to Claire, to Lisa, to Ray, but even in that something, he would stay with her. It might not be love, not how that young woman thought love should be, but it was what he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted:
> 
> [Burial Ground](http://buried-insilver.dreamwidth.org/1164.html)   
>  [Beginnings](http://buried-insilver.dreamwidth.org/1365.html)   
>  [Mirrors](http://buried-insilver.dreamwidth.org/1365.html)   
>  [Devotion](http://buried-insilver.dreamwidth.org/2044.html#cutid1)


End file.
